


Songs Written in Blood: A Nightingale's Flight

by WinterEquinox



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Murder Mystery AU, Serial Killer, Swearing, The Old Guard Big Bang 2021, historical racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterEquinox/pseuds/WinterEquinox
Summary: There are bodies appearing all over the South Side of Chicago, and for once it doesn’t appear to be the work of Capone and his boys. Detective Sébastien “Booker” Le Livre seems to be the only one in the precinct that thinks this is a problem. He drowns his frustration at the nearest speakeasy to his shitty apartment, and listens to the incredible talent of Nile “Nightingale” Freeman and Joe al-Kaysani, the best jazz duo in the city. When the Nightingale is threatened, the crew of The Old Guard close ranks to keep her wings from being clipped and silencing her forever. Will the drunken detective be able to push back against the corruption in his precinct, or will he have to find this monster on his own?
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 92
Kudos: 62
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun exploring this environment! I would like to state that while there is violence and period-typical racism and homophobia, it was not included lightly, however I felt that I could not pretend that these things did not happen during this time period. I did as much research as I could before writing to make sure that I was not falling into stereotypes. However, if you find anything that is Egregious, I am open to constructive criticism and new information (as long as you aren't a dick about it). 
> 
> MANY MANY MANY Thanks to the ENTIRETY Of the Book of Nile Group Chat on Tumblr for cheering me on and listening to me panic.
> 
> ISA---You are the best Beta ever!!!!  
> and Lestey, who made the WONDERFUL ART that is at the end of this piece.

_ Sometimes I wish I was a nightingale _

_ I’d make my lullaby a fairytale _

  
  


There is another fucking body on the South Side. Sébastien “Booker” Le Livre has been a detective with the Chicago Police department for five years, ever since he came over to America after the Great War, and he has seen more mutilated bodies in the past six months than he has in his entire career. 

“I need a goddamn drink,” he growls, removing his hat and carefully crouching next to the body, trying to keep the bottom of his overcoat away from the blood. 

“Careful there, Book, don’t want anyone to think you’ve got an in with Capone.” Keane, the beat cop that had been first on the scene chides him, and Booker wants to punch him. Fucking prohibition, all it did was make the mobsters richer, more popular and more powerful.

“Fuck off, Keane. If drinking with Capone could help us find out who is doing  _ this _ , I’d join his boys myself,” he replies as he gestures to the young man before him, whose dark skin had lost the glow of life, face perfectly preserved to showcase his look of terror, a stark contrast to the butcher-job that was his open ribcage. “Who pulls the lungs out like that?”

“What does it matter? It's just another black boy from the docks. One less thing to worry about." Booker grinds his teeth as he reminds himself that he can't punch this asshole in the middle of the street in broad daylight. 

"He's a person, and someone must be missing him. So. Let's do our goddamn job and find out who we need to notify and try and figure out who this madman that is hunting in our city is." Booker directs the photographer to the areas that he wants to be able to look at in detail later and gets out of the way to let the man work. He looks around the scene, taking in the stinking garbage from the nearby restaurant and the way the curtains on the third story of the nearest building are pulled tightly shut--that is, all except one. A small child’s face peeks out of the corner of one window, before he is quickly snatched backwards by larger hands. Time to ask the neighbors what they saw last night. 

Three hours of knocking on doors, having several of those doors slammed in his face, and taking down possible witness statements later, Booker is really in need of that drink. He makes his way back to the station and his tiny, overcrowded desk to find a note from the photographer saying that it would be about two days before he got the photographs back due to “having actual, paying, clients that take priority.” He growls as he slams the note back down and pulls the photos he  _ does _ have from the previous murders. Flipping through them turns his stomach, but hopefully this time they will show him more than just the utter reaches of depravity that this killer has sunk to. Hopefully  _ this time _ he will see something that will help him find this son of a bitch before there is another grieving widow to notify.

********

He taps a familiar rhythm on the frame of the back alley entrance of what appears to be storage for a local grocer. The door is opened after a brief moment by a tall, thin woman wearing a suit.

“Long time, Booker, what’s it been? Sixteen whole days?” She steps to the side as she teases him. “Thought you were quitting, since it’s against the law and all, copper.”

“Shut up, Andy. It has been a shitty fucking day.” She places a firm hand on his arm as she walks him to the bar, where Nicky is already pouring him a drink. He’s a good guy, for an Italian. Booker can hear his partner Joe playing a few warm ups on the piano and he turns to Andy. “Is she singing tonight, or do you have someone new?”

“Our Nightingale is back. Capone tried to tempt her away from us, but she managed to talk him out of it and made her way home.” He nods, the singer has been a fixture in the bar for as long as Joe has, and she has the pipes to make an honest living for herself if she wants to. Sing on the big stages for the rich folk across the country, but he’s heard her arguing with Andy before about how she wants to stay in her hometown to help her mother with her younger siblings. 

He settles himself into the darkest corner of The Old Guard, from where he can clearly see the stage and the exit. Andy has taken up her post as the resident head-breaker, nevermind the fact that she owns the place. Nicky is keeping himself busy handing the rotgut over to the other patrons who have heard that the Nightingale is singing tonight. Then Joe plays an elaborate flourish on the keys and she steps onto the stage.

Her skin seems to take in the light of the gas lamps at her feet and turn it into molten honey that flows from within, a shape formed out of the shadows and forged in light. Her voice is a siren's call, dancing with Joe's bright notes on the piano. He has to talk to her. Song after song, drink after drink, she enchants her audience with her warm smile and velvety voice.

At the end of her final song she steps down from the small stage and glides to the bar, not far from him. He is clumsy as he stands, needing to be closer, wanting to hear her speak.

"Just a tonic, Nicky, please." Her smile is more brilliant up close, and she turns towards him when he leans on the barn next to her.

"You're incredible… your voice… like, like smoke." Did he remember to use English? Fuck.

"Smoke, huh? I thought I sounded pretty clear tonight." She cocks her head to the side, and he is distracted by how the feather and beads of her headband shift in the light.

"No, I mean… yes. Very clear, but… like smoke. You don't notice it at first, but it gets inside of you and it sticks to your lungs, to your clothes, and you still smell it and remember later." He nods firmly. There, that would show her his appreciation. He blinks away the haze of alcohol, wondering why the bar keeps shifting under his hand. The songbird looks worried. Why? Did she not understand his worship of her?

His knees buckle and he feels the wave of drink wash over him as he falls at her feet. The last thing he hears before the blackness overtakes him is Nicky’s voice sighing, “ _ dannazione _ , Booker.”

*********

Nile stares in shock as the large man crumples at her feet, and she can tell from Nicky’s tone that this isn't unusual for him. Andy is quickly by his side, easily dragging one of his arms over her shoulders and hauling him off the dusty floor. His head lolls to the side, dark blonde hair falling across his forehead. Andy whistles sharply and Joe comes over from where he had been chatting with one of the guys who play trombone at a club owned by Capone. 

“Is this… usual for him?” Nile asks, taking in the tie that has been pulled loose and the dark circles under the man’s eyes.

“Sometimes. He said today had been bad. I guess he wasn’t lying, he hasn’t tied one on like that since Simone left with the boys.” Andy grunts as she passes the bulk of the man’s weight to Joe’s shoulder, then she begins patting him not-so-gently on the cheeks, “Booker, Book!” CRACK--one solid slap across his face and he blinks at her blearily before groaning and tucking his head under Joe’s jaw.

“We’ll get him home, Boss, don’t you worry. Right,  _ hayati _ ?” Nicky nods to Joe and hops over the bar to situate himself under the man’s-- _ Booker? What kind of name is Booker? _ \--other arm.

“Thanks boys, I’ll walk our songbird home.” Nile rolls her eyes at their overprotectiveness as she watches the three men stagger to the door. She spends the next hour or so helping Andy collect money and shoo out the remaining patrons, graciously accepting tips from the few she knows can afford it, and making sure to leave a lip print on the cheeks of the elderly men who she knows lost their wives to the Influenza outbreak a decade before. The chuckles she gets in return is worth her slight discomfort in the act. 

She and Andy link arms as they walk boldly back to Nile’s tiny apartment in the boarding house run by Mr. Copley. Her father’s war buddy had been the one to come home and share the news of his capture and death, and swore to help her and her family however he could. When she began working late nights serving drinks for Andy, she asked him if he had room for her so that she didn’t interrupt her family's sleep. That way her mother could stop worrying about the kind of life she was leading, since Mr. Copley only allows women of good morals and character to live in his homes. 

They call their goodnights to each other, and Nile takes her time preparing for bed. Before she closes her eyes, she thinks of the man who had fallen at her feet earlier that night, and hopes that he is able to find some peace outside of the bottle. 

********

Booker wakes up still in his clothes from the night before, laying on the sofa that he had scavenged from a warehouse that burned down a few months back. He rolls off the edge and groans when he hits the floor.

"You gave him too much,  _ hayati, _ the poor man is useless to the force now." Joe’s low voice comes from his tiny kitchen, and Booker glares at the men standing at his stove, Nicky scrambling eggs with Joe wrapped around his back.

"Why are you in my house?" Booker growls at them. 

"To make sure you didn't die in your sleep, after you prostrated yourself at the feet of our favorite performer. Joe, give the grumpy bear a coffee before he shoots us, yes, love?" Nicky doesn't even bother looking up from the stove, bastard. Joe presses a kiss to his lover's cheek before bringing a steaming mug of coffee over to Booker, who is still sitting on the floor.

"What time is it?" 

"Just after seven. You snore horrendously when you drink, my friend. It was the only way Nicky and I could tell you were still breathing." Joe settles into one of the rickety chairs next to his lopsided kitchen table. Booker groans again and levers himself off the rug to join him. Nicky sets a plate full of eggs and toast in front of him before perching himself on Joe’s knee.

"What is troubling you? You haven't gotten that pickled since Simone left." Nicky’s wide blue eyes are unblinking as he cuts to the core of the issue with his usual bluntness.

"The murders are getting worse. And I don't have a single fucking lead."

"The black men?"

"One woman too. The only thing I can see that's tying them together is the color of their skin and the fact that they are being thrown out like yesterday's paper within the same 5 square blocks. I can't get anyone to talk to me and we've only identified one, a grandmother of nine."

They finish their breakfast in silence and Booker asks them to lock up his home when they leave as he heads out to the precinct. The sounds of the city are too damn loud for his sore head, so he just glares at his feet and does his best to ignore the call of grocers and the sputtering of car engines.

Mid morning, he is back to staring at the photographs from the previous five bodies and crime scenes when a receptionist comes to his desk, saying there is a woman looking for him. He quickly covers the gruesome evidence as a middle aged black woman is escorted across the bullpen.

"Are you Mr. Le Livre?"

"Yes,  _ Madame _ , how can I help you?"

Her hands are trembling as they twist the strap of her handbag, and while she is standing up tall, she seems ready to bolt and run at any moment. Her lip is quivering but her voice is strong.

"Mr. Copley told me I should bring this to you. My son ain't been home in a few days, and he was getting real spooked about all the killings going on." She opens her handbag and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. "This was stuck to his dresser, and… I've never seen a pen that writes like that."

Booker carefully takes the piece of paper from her and smoothes it out as best as he can. The ink is a rusty brown color, flaking off the page. It seems to have been scratched into place rather than having come from the smooth flow of a fountain pen.

_ What makes that Lion Roar?  _

_ Heart? Lung? Spine? _

_ cry little kitten _

He raises his eyes to meet the woman across from him. "What is your son's name,  _ madame? _ " 

"Leo. Leo Marshall. He's a boxer, and they call him the Lion."


	2. Chapter 2

_ Sometimes I feel like I’m a mockingbird _

_ Mimicking the songs that I've already heard _

Nile steps into The Old Guard shortly after lunch, carrying a fresh loaf of bread from her mother's kitchen and some cheese and turkey from the deli down the block. Sure enough, she sees Joe sitting at a table in the back of the room surrounded by scraps of lined paper and a cup of cold coffee at his elbow. She rolls her eyes at the familiar sight and sits across from him, carefully crafting a sandwich, taking one of his hands and placing the food into it as he furrows his brow at the paper in front of him. He absent-mindedly takes a bite of the sandwich and mumbles a thanks to her. 

"What's got you down, music man?"

Joe's head snaps up, coming back to the present with the sound of her voice. He blinks down at the sandwich in his hand, then looks back up to her.

"What time is it? Where's Nicky?"

Nile pushes aside a few crumpled pieces of paper, finding one with Nicky’s distinctive block-writing on it:  _ I left at 10. PLEASE eat before I return at 5. Job at the docks today.  _ This was followed by an elaborate  _ N _ and a rough sketch of crossed swords. 

"Looks like not even he could break through the fog. So, what ya workin' on?" She hands the note to him, watching her friend's eyes soften as he reads the missive. 

"Thank you for looking out for me, Nightingale. He would be most unhappy if he found me wasting away in the same spot he left me. As for my latest project, you need a song. A song that is all yours. Something that you can close with and that will leave men sobbing in their cups and willing to give you the world." A broad hand gestures at the shrapnel of creative genius littering the table between them. "It is going terribly."

Nile bursts into laughter at the cheery tone and cheeky wink he shoots her with his last declaration. Pulling a few sheets to herself, they put their heads together and lose themselves in song. 

Hours fly by and they move from the table to Joe’s piano, trying different flourishes and key changes with the snippets of verse they have cobbled together. Andy arrives and starts heckling them from where she is doing their mid-week inventory so that she can place an order for more hooch with her contacts. As the clock nears five, they hear a familiar rap on the side entrance door. Andy stalks over, carrying her baseball bat that she keeps next to the bar. 

"We aren't open," she barks through the oak.

"Lemme in, Andy." The voice is muffled but Nile notices both Joe and Andy relax, obviously recognizing the speaker. Andy pulls the door open and a large man in a suit slips inside, dragging a well-dressed, lithe woman whose long black hair is pulled back in an elegant knot held in place with an ivory and gold comb in behind him. Nile would bet her mother's gold cross that the dress she is wearing is real silk too.

"There’s a situation at the docks. I need you to watch  _ Madame  _ Williams here for me while I check it out. Can you do that?" His voice sounds familiar to Nile now that the door isn't in the way, but it's not until he sweeps his gaze over to her and Joe at the piano that she recognizes the man who drunkenly complimented her voice a few weeks ago.  _ What was his name again? _

"Do I  _ look  _ like a babysitter, Booker?" Andy stalks back over to the bar, tossing the bat on the top as she eyes the small woman who is perching herself on a stool, slender legs on display. 

"What's going on at the docks, Book?" Joe’s voice is shaking and he has gone still.

"Shoot-out. Seems there was a mix-up on whose shipment was coming in today-" Before the man can finish his sentence, Joe is bolting for the door. Booker catches him in strong arms, barely moving as Joe struggles to get free.

"Nicky’s there.  _ Let me go, you French bastard!" _

"You go down there lookin' for him in this state you'll get both of you killed. I'm on it, Joe. If I see him, I'll send him straight home to you, alright? He's gonna be fine, Joe." His reassurances don't seem to make much of an impact, as Joe keeps cursing him, but at least he has stopped fighting him.

Their fight is interrupted by frantic banging on the side door, and everyone freezes. Booker and Andy lock eyes. He nods and she crosses the room again, cracking the heavy door open before her hand darts out to drag a bleeding Nicky into the room. Joe cries out as he takes in the bruises forming on Nicky’s pale skin, blood running down his face, and the way he’s cradling his arm across his ribs, more blood seeping through his shirt.

" _ Nicolò! Amore mio, cosa ti è successo?" _ Joe frees himself from Booker’s grip and rushes over to Nicky, checking him for further injuries. Nile holds back tears as she watches her friend fuss over his partner, Nicky trying to reassure them in gasping Italian that he is fine and everything will be alright. Booker helps Joe take Nicky to a chair, peppering him with questions about what happened at the docks. They seem to be switching between a few different languages, and Nile doesn’t try to keep up. She rushes to a side room and gathers some spare rags and towels that they keep in there for cleaning. She comes back to see the woman Booker called Mrs. Williams helping herself to a drink behind the bar, Joe helping Nicky remove his shirt, and Andy chiding their friend for bleeding all over her bar. Booker is gone, presumably down to the docks.

Nicky is doing his best to reassure Joe as Nile begins to apply pressure to the wound on his side — a bullet graze that traced along his ribs on his right side. She is surprised when an elegant hand reaches over her shoulder and offers a glass of whiskey to Nicky. She looks up to see the strange woman offer a tight smile.

“May not heal you, but if you have enough you forget the hurt.”

Nicky nods his thanks, then slams the drink back. Andy decides to skip the middleman and hands him a full bottle.

“Drink up, little brother, you’re gonna need some stitches, and Joe may kill me if I mess that face of yours up.” Andy is already preparing a needle and thread, and winks at their injured friend.

“Hmmm… he hasn’t left me due to my unfortunate appearance yet — do your worst, boss.”

“Don’t insult my love like that,  _ tesoro, _ ” Joe growls before kissing Nicky hungrily. 

********

When their impromptu surgery is complete, Andy ducks outside to arrange the signal to indicate The Old Guard will be closed for the evening. A couple of words to the elderly woman who lives in the building on the corner has her putting a red blanket out to dry, a clear sign to potential customers that tonight is a no-go. Though it’s unlikely many will come with the heat that is coming down on the docks tonight, no reason to tempt fate. She also pays a boy to run and fetch them some food since they can’t leave Mrs. Williams unattended after Booker left her in their care.

“I don’t mean to cause offense, but why did Booker drag you in here, Mrs. Williams?” Joe asks from where he is seated with Nicky’s head pillowed in his lap, trailing his fingers through his lover’s hair.

“He found me righting a wrong and decided that it would be too much trouble to drag me down to the station.” The woman smirks and begins pulling an assortment of jewelry from hidden pockets in her dress.

“Where did you get those? They’re beautiful!” Nile can’t resist pulling an emerald ring in a gold setting closer, watching as it catches the light.

“My husband’s mistress thought so too.” Her expression changes to something dangerous. “It is one thing to seek pleasure outside of our bed, but to use  _ my _ money to facilitate it? Unforgivable.” 

Andy laughs and clinks their glasses of whiskey together. Nile begins to fear for the safety of the city if these two women form a friendship. She can’t imagine being more insulted by the loss of money than by the loss of your husband’s affection. Her parents had been so in love with each other — she thinks that when her father fell in the trenches her mother’s heart went into the earth with him. She glances over to Joe and Nicky and knows that they share what her parents had. She aches, for the few men who have shown an interest in her only did so because they liked the way she looked and wanted her to have their children. Her last suitor had demanded that she stop singing and attempted to bar her from leaving her mother’s house before her younger brother came home and forcibly removed him. She’s beginning to wonder if it would be better to just forge her own way in the world and not seek love. Perhaps it only comes for one couple per generation, and it is clear that Joe and Nicky have it now.

When Nicky comes to, she and Joe go back to working on her song, Nicky offering moral support though he has no knowledge of music. Mrs. Williams  — Quynh, she corrected them after her third glass — and Andy are sharing tales of daring break-ins and the various fights Andy has found herself in over the years. Apparently this is not the first time Booker has pulled Quynh from the scene of a crime, and Andy declares that when he returns to escort the woman home, she will scold him for not introducing them sooner. Nile basks in the feeling of friendship and pushes the yearning for love to the back of her mind.

********

Booker drags himself back to The Old Guard, hoping that Quynh hasn’t slipped away from the group at the speakeasy. She’s faster than any snake he’s had the misfortune of coming across, and three times as deadly. Her husband’s social standing paired with her family’s money has ensured that they have never been able to bring charges against her for her many thefts in the past, so he has decided that he’s just not going to book her anymore. It’s a waste of time and he fucking hates the paperwork. Plus, most of the time she has a very compelling reason for her petty crimes and if he was in her position, with a husband that shoves his nose under every skirt that catches his eye, he’d do more than steal back the trinkets the man doled out. 

He raps out the familiar pattern again, and is surprised when the songbird is the one to open the door with a wide grin on her face.

“Booker, right? Get all the business at the dock sorted out?” She rests her head against the edge of the door, and he can’t tell if she is holding it open or if it is holding her up.

“ _ Oui, _ all taken care of. How is Nicky?” He slips past her, catching the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle coming from her hair. He closes his eyes and takes a deeper breath, before remembering his place.

“He’s good. He and Joe crashed in one of the booths about an hour ago. Your friend and Andy are plotting something, though.” She arches her eyebrow, and he groans as he looks to the bar to see Quynh and Andy deep in conversation, both lit up with the fire of passion… or anarchy. 

“Booker! Why have you been hiding these lovely people from me?” Quynh’s accusation flies across the room and he grimaces at her.

“To preserve what is left of my sanity,  _ madame _ , as all of you test it.”

“Even me?” The soft voice from his side startles him, and he has never been more grateful for Andy’s exuberance than in this moment, or else he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself from responding,  _ you most of all, songbird. _

“Yes, Booker,  _ why _ would you keep her from me?” Andy looks as though she wants to devour Quynh, who does not seem opposed to the idea.

“Because now that the introduction has been made, I fear for the safety of the city, let alone the world. Come,  _ Madame  _ Williams, time to return you home safely.” There are groans of discontent from all three women, but they all disperse after hugs and kisses to the cheek. Booker ignores Quynh’s pouting the entire walk back to her fancy home, and prays that he is able to get a full night’s sleep tonight.

He does. His dreams are filled with jasmine, honeysuckle and soft laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: there is an Attempted Assault at the end of this chapter. It is the Paragraph AFTER: "She is passing by an alcove when someone grabs her from behind."

_ I want to dance on the horizon line _

_ But there is something I am caged behind _

  
  


Quynh has become a fixture at The Old Guard. It seems like every time Booker finds himself darkening the door of the speakeasy she is already there, perched beside Andy, lighting a cigarette for Joe, or trying to get Nicky to pour her a free drink. He is still worried about the implications of her and Andy becoming fast friends, but the number of times he’s had to drag her out of someone else’s house has dramatically decreased, so he will take the win where he can get it. It’s not like he can find many of them these days.

The most recent murder victim — who was identified by his mother as Leo Marshall, up and coming boxer with a heart of gold and a new fiancée — was not the only one who had received a cryptic note in the days before their death. The last four had received them as well, and horrifyingly, some aspect of their post mortem mutilation was mentioned in the notes. Booker is doing his damndest to stay clear headed on this one, but some nights the only way to get any sleep was to drink as much as possible. Today is turning into one of those days, he can tell.

Keane keeps making comments about the whole thing being a waste of time, since “no one important” has died. Booker barely keeps himself from throwing the man out the window every time the beat cop opens his mouth. He has noticed that the other man speaks louder around certain members of the force — those that have a reputation for being a little more lenient on the paler civilians, especially the ones who have ties to Scarface or the North Side’s Irish boys.  _ Fucking mobsters _ . Booker glares harder at the notes he has collected from the victims, comparing the handwriting. They all seem to be similar enough. And he really hopes that the crazy fucker doing the killings isn’t using what he  _ thinks _ is being used as ink. That’s got to be too far for anyone, right? 

A cup of coffee appears in front of him and he blinks stupidly at it before looking up to see who deposited it there. A serious looking man raises his eyebrow at Booker, who is still trying to figure out why his mentor — who retired two years ago — is bringing him coffee.

“Copley?”

“So you  _ do _ remember me. I was beginning to wonder, since you never stopped by for dinner like I’ve asked you to.” The older man sits down, picking up a couple of photographs for a better look. “You can’t keep surrounding yourself with this shit, Rookie, or else you’ll end up drinking yourself to death trying to drown out the memories.”

“Not like I’d be a great loss. Besides, if I don’t do it, who will? Keane? Or one of the others who hate people who look like you? Because trust me, Copley, there are more and more of them every year,” Booker growls at his friend, snatching the photographs back from him and taking a drink from the still scalding coffee, wincing at the way it burns his tongue.

Copley shakes his head as he looks around the bullpen. He recognizes a few faces from his days there but Booker is right, there aren’t many of the old crowd left. He watches as the man that he had put on the path to being one of the best detectives this city has seen buries himself further into his notes, seemingly content with allowing the city to win and burn him into an empty shell of booze and anger as it had so many other good cops before him. He sighs, knowing that he isn’t going to get through to the kid this time around.

“Promise me you’ll come by for dinner sometime next week, huh, Rookie? I don’t want to worry about you having a liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner.” The irritated grunt he gets in return is as close to an agreement he can expect, so he taps his hand on the desk and leaves the bullpen, catching Keane’s eye and giving him a nod and a smirk as he does, glad that he still has enough pull to keep that little sycophant off the detective track. 

********

Joe passes Nile a cigarette as she slips into the tiny backstage area. She grins, takes a drag and hands it back to him with a kiss on the cheek, careful to keep lipstick marks off of his skin. There is already a crowd gathering around the bar, Nicky exchanging money for the liquor that the men are desperate for. Joe hands Nile the song list for the evening and heads to the stage to play a few jazz warm ups to get the crowd going.

Nile goes to the small vanity shoved into a corner to do a last check of her hair and makeup, dabbing an extra bit of rouge on her lips and cheeks. As she adjusts the flower she has pinned to her hair, she notices a scrap of paper shoved into the frame of the mirror. Andy never leaves written messages and she has just seen Joe, so who else would come to her staging area and leave a note? She carefully dislodges the torn and tattered paper from the edge of the mirror and unfolds the note.

_ Where do you keep the songs, Nightingale? _

_ Pretty throat. Pretty Face. empty head.  _

_ scream your songs for me _

Her hands shake and she looks around before re-folding the note and tucking it into her dress to show to Andy later. She feels as though there are eyes on her and looks around frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who left the message, though she knows they are long gone.

She takes a steadying breath and moves towards the curtain as she hears Joe begin to play the final bars of his opening song and switch seamlessly to the first notes of her first number. One gloved hand reaches out to open the curtain, when there is suddenly a commotion on the other side. Whistles, crashing of doors and screams from the patrons. Andy’s voice roars over the crowd.

“Raid! Get out! Run, go, go, go!!” The shattering of glass and pounding of feet echo in her ears as she turns away from the lounge and runs for the alley. Nile bursts through the door, hearing the screams from patrons fighting back against the cops at the front of the building. Tennants from nearby buildings are throwing potted plants down onto the heads of the riot forming below. She gasps for air, heart in her throat as she turns away from the mob and heads further into the maze of alleyways. She is passing by an alcove when someone grabs her from behind.

“Mmmm… you are a pretty one. Boss told me that you would be worth the trouble of pissing off the Scythian bitch, maybe he won’t notice if I take a turn first.” The low voice at her ear turns her blood to ice, but when he shoves her face into the brick of the building and presses his weight into her she feels something inside her snap. Her eyes dart around and she does her best to ignore the way the man behind her is rutting against her back. She sees an opportunity and shoves herself back from the wall, slamming the man behind her into the opposite side of the alley. Quick as a snake, she grabs a piece of pipe that had fallen loose from the fire escape above her and swings it into the side of her assailant’s head. His curses follow the hollow sound of metal clanging against the street as she runs for safety.

_ Can't go home. Can’t let them get me. Run, Nile, run… don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. You got out, you got out, you got out. _ Her pounding feet take her to a familiar door, and she slams herself into it. She is choking back tears and refusing to look behind her as she gasps, “please, please, Mr. Copley, it’s Nile, please, open the door!”

The door swings open and she dashes inside, noticing that Mr. Copley has a gun in his hand and he is not alone in his living room. Booker is standing in the doorway to Mr. Copley’s dining area with his suit jacket off, revealing a shoulder holster over his shirt.

“Cover her, Rookie, I’m going to check what’s going on.” Mr. Copley’s voice is soft as he goes to investigate. The large man nods in recognition and moves across the room to herd her further into the home. He directs her to a chair and brings a glass of water that he presses into her shaking hands.

“Are you hurt,  _ Mam’zelle _ ?” His voice is rough but soft, and he is kneeling in front of her but not touching her or crowding her into the corner.

“I… I don’t think so. Just rattled. There was a raid at the Guard. We all scattered.”  _ Why won’t my hands stop shaking. I’m safe. No one knows I’m here. _

There is a flash of rage across Booker’s face and a low rumble coming from his chest before he barks out something angry sounding in French. She flinches back from the outburst.

“I’m sorry,  _ Mam’zelle _ . I don’t mean to scare you. I normally am able to give Andy warning, but I hadn’t heard of a raid.” He glances around the small dining space and brings a plate of delicious smelling roast closer to her. “Please, try to eat something. I’ll stand guard until Copley comes back.”

She watches him as he stands and crosses the room. His broad shoulders take up the entire door frame, and he handles the gun from the holster with ease. She recognizes the silent way he carries himself from the few memories she has of her father. Graceful, like one of the big cats that she has seen in the circus. She’s glad that he is between her and the possible threat outside. 

The door opens and his gun is up and aimed before she can even jump at the sudden movement. Mr. Copley appears and the tension fades slightly from the room as the men nod at each other and the door is shut and barricaded.

“Looks like the mob has dispersed. I sent a runner to Andy’s favorite hideout letting her know you’re safe, but this feels wrong, doesn’t it, Rookie?”

“I hadn’t heard  _ anything _ about a raid, Jim. You know I wouldn’t leave them out to dry like that.”

“What is going on?” Nile bursts out. “How would you know about a raid, Booker?”

“Because Detective Le Livre here was my handpicked replacement in the force when I retired, Miss Freeman. And he is about the only man I would trust leaving you with after serving with your father.”

Nile looks at Booker--Detective? A cop? Who regularly drinks with the rest of them and brought a jewel-thief for them to look over and befriend? 

“What kind of copper are you?”

“A bad one.”

“A good one.”

Both men speak simultaneously and Mr. Copley smiles blandly at the younger man, who is glaring at him. Booker rolls his eyes and re-holsters his weapon before putting his suit jacket back on.

“I focus on murder cases,  _ Mam’zelle _ Freeman. And recently I’ve been tied up with the madman who has been butchering people on the South Side. I’m sorry that I lapsed in my secondary job of keeping the Old Guard safe and put you in danger. It is unacceptable.”

“I don’t know, Booker, sounds like stopping murders is pretty important work.”

“I haven’t been stopping them, though. He’s been taunting me and keeps killing and leaving the damned notes. Thus, a bad detective.”

Nile’s breath catches in her throat and she thinks of how her evening started. She thinks of the crumpled piece of paper she tucked into her brassiere before she went to take the stage and all hell broke loose. 

“What kind of notes?”


	4. Chapter 4

_ I have a heart made for take flight _

_ But I'm low, so low _

  
  


Booker feels sick as Nile explains that she had found a note stuck to the mirror backstage, and then pulls it from the plunging neckline of her dress and hands it to him. He smooths it out and the same handwriting he has been analysing for weeks stares back at him. The “ink” is much more red, obviously fresher, and he can no longer fool himself into thinking it is anything other than blood. 

The words mimic those on the previous notes, targeting her voice, her beauty. The sickness in his chest gives way to burning fury at the thought of this person feeling that he has the right to  _ look _ at the Nightingale, let alone take her life. He looks up at her wide, dark eyes, sees the hope that she is wrong about the note and hates himself.

“I am so sorry, _ Mam’zelle. _ Is there somewhere that I can take you? Somewhere safe? This appears to be like the others, but this is the first time we have seen the note before…” He can’t finish the sentence, but she is braver than him.

“Before there is a body?” Her soft voice feels like a blow. Because of his failures she is in danger. If he opens his mouth he is going to scream, so he nods instead. She looks past him to Copley, and he watches as she takes a deep breath, sets her jaw and squares her shoulders before her eyes bore back into his. 

“I can’t take this to my momma’s house. I won’t risk my family. If this person knew how to get into the backstage of the Guard without getting caught he probably knows where I live too. What do you suggest, Detective?”

His initial reaction is to bundle her up and shove her onto the fastest bus out of this town. Preferably with an army of bodyguards. But that isn’t going to happen and he is fairly sure that she would draw his own weapon on him if he tried--Andy tends to hire people who have the same reckless self preservation instincts as herself. He leans back in his chair, trying to find an answer she would agree to.

“Quynh. Her home is defensible and no one will know that the two of you are friends.” Some of the tension leaves her shoulders and she smiles softly at him.

“When are we going?”

“Now. The sooner, the better, I think. I can drive us over, but I want you to hide in the backseat of my car, so that no one sees you leaving.” He turns towards Copley and they begin arranging a way to smuggle  _ Mademoiselle _ Freeman out of his home and into Booker’s car. She agrees to being wrapped up in Booker’s overcoat and wearing his hat, in some vain attempt at disguising her as a male friend. They sling their arms around her and stumble in mock-drunkenness to Booker’s Model T, singing loudly and off-key before they pour her into the back seat, where she all but disappears under his coat. 

“Are you alright,  _ Mam’zelle _ ?” Booker murmurs to her before he shuts the door. The mass of fabric in the seat wiggles until just a sliver of her face appears, and she tosses him a wink. He smiles at her cheekiness and slams the door shut before sliding into the front seat and making the drive uptown. 

********

Nile allows herself to be soothed by the motion of the automobile as she hides beneath Detective Le Livre’s coat. She takes the time to think about what she has just discovered. There is a killer hunting on the streets of the South Side. He taunts his targets with notes. He left  _ her _ a note. The drunk who praised her voice a month ago is a cop. He was hand chosen by Mr. Copley to be his replacement on the force. He looks incredible wearing a shoulder holster. His coat smells like aftershave and lavender. He seems to take her safety as a personal mission. He is trusted by Andy and doesn’t look down on Joe and Nicky. 

Her thoughts chase each other around in her head as she watches him navigate the rough streets to whatever part of town Quynh lives in. She briefly wonders if Quynh will even be home, or if she is out hunting down more treasures that her husband has given away to lovers. The jostling of the Model T was calming after the terror of the evening and Booker seems to have forgotten about her laying in the back seat--he is humming to himself, a song she recognizes as one of Joe’s favorites to play because of the intricate back and forth of the melody.

“We’re getting close. I hope she is here. I don’t want to leave you alone in the car, so stay close to me when we get there, alright?” He never takes his eyes off the road and his body is still relaxed, but his voice has an edge to it that she remembers from the day that Nicky had been shot and he was keeping Joe from running to his side. 

“I’ll stay with you, Detective,” she whispers back, pitching her voice so it could be heard over the sound of the engine.

“Please, call me Booker. I haven’t been doing a good enough job of detecting recently. Here we are.” Before she can refute his claim the car stops, and Nile wraps his overcoat tightly around her before falling into step behind his broad frame. He takes long strides up to the large house--bigger than anything Nile thought was possible to afford in this city--and pounds his fist on the heavy oak door.

Nile is startled when the door is flung open by an older man wearing a smoking jacket, with thinning blonde hair and a bristled mustache. He glares at Booker, tapping one slippered foot.

“What are you doing here? It is too late for social calls, not that ANYONE ELSE CARES!” He yells the last bit over his shoulder to the interior of the house.

“Is your wife home, Mr. Williams? I have a favor to ask of her.” Nile stares wide-eyed at the back of Booker’s head. The slight French accent that has rolled through his voice since she first met him is gone--he sounds like any other dock worker or vendor on the corner.

“Who is it now, dearest?” Quynh’s voice floats down the hallway and the woman herself appears in a silk dressing robe decorated with beautiful embroidery depicting various forest animals dancing along the hems. Her hair is loose, falling in a river of black to her waist, but her eyes do not appear to have the residual sleepiness in them that her husband’s do. The vague, polite smile is replaced by something predatory as she catches sight of Booker.

“Sébastien, how wonderful to see you. What brings you to my door so late at night?”

“I was wondering if you had heard anything about our friends. There was a bit of a dust-up on the South Side and a little bird got free of the cage and came looking for shelter.”

“Thank God, you have her, get inside, everyone else is hiding in the parlour.”

“Now, you listen here, woman, I will not have you harboring criminals in  _ my _ house!”

“And I’ve told you before,  _ Anthony _ , I owned this house for a decade before you begged for my hand. You have no say in who seeks sanctuary here. And if you feel that you need to alert the authorities, there he is.” Quynh’s elegant hand makes a sweeping gesture to Booker, who has angled himself to allow Nile access into the home. Quynh takes her in a warm hug and directs her into the parlour where her friends are all waiting with various scrapes and bruises on their faces, tears in their clothes and weapons in hand. Nile allows a sob to break free of her chest as her friends huddle around her, battered but alive.

********

After many hugs and good-natured mothering from Nicky, the crew from The Old Guard exchange stories of what had happened. Andy saw the first officer break out of formation and called for everyone to run. By the time Joe was able to get out from behind his piano the patrons were rushing towards the exit. Nicky had possibly broken his hand fighting his way to Joe’s side--and still isn’t sure if he punched a cop or a civilian. Nile hesitates briefly, but a stern look from Booker has her spilling her guts about the ambush in the alleyway. She leans her shoulder into his hip where he has taken up position beside the chair she was shoved into, glad that he is by her side. It is easier to tell her story the second time, but she can’t force herself to explain the new terror that has descended upon her.

“That’s not everything,” Booker’s low rumble cuts through Joe and Quynh’s vocal outrage and breaks the intense stares of Andy and Nicky boring into her soul. She is thankful that their focus is now on him so she can finally allow the plush seat of the chair engulf her. “The butcher that’s been hunting the South Side, I think he’s after Mademoiselle Freeman now. I don’t know how to find him, but we have to work together to keep her safe until I do.”

“You’re all staying here tonight and tomorrow. At least until the heat cools down. Andromache, how badly do you think your lounge was damaged?” Quynh asks, taking control of the situation.

“I’m not sure, I’ll have to sneak down tomorrow sometime and see. Hopefully they didn’t light it on fire.” Andy’s voice is rough, tired from the trauma they have all gone through.

“I didn’t see any smoke on our way over. I think they mostly wanted to rattle the cage, Andy. I wish I could have given you a warning. Maybe they are catching on to me.” She waves away Booker's concern, and privately Nile thinks that it would be more conspicuous if The Old Guard wasn’t ever raided. At least everyone got out safely this time. 

Quynh shows them all to their rooms, putting Andy and Nile in one and the three men in the other. She also brings Nile and Andy some nightclothes to wear, which are better than the sweat-stained dress she is currently wearing even if the nightdress is a little short on her. Nile tries to imagine the large shape of Booker shoving himself into one of Mr. Williams’s smoking jackets and begins to laugh hysterically. Andy joins her once she is able to choke out the joke, and they fall asleep curled against each other, chuckling occasionally.


	5. Chapter 5

_Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow_

_Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours_

Nile stumbles over a solid body the next morning when she leaves her borrowed bedroom, and only keeps herself upright by grabbing the doorframe. She chokes down the scream in her throat when she looks down to see Booker groggily blinking up at her.

“What are you doing on the floor?” she hisses at him, checking behind her to make sure that Andy had slept through the commotion. 

“ _Désolé, mam’zelle_ … I wanted to be sure you were safe,” he rumbles up at her as he moves to prop his shoulders against the wall and swing his long legs out of the way.

“Do you really think this guy could snatch me out of this fortress? When I’m sharing a room with _Andy?_ ” She extends a hand to him, hauling him off the ground fully, wincing in sympathy as he groans and she hears something pop back into place in his back. He chuckles and shakes his head at her, but doesn’t press the issue further.

Nile continues on in her quest for something to drink, with a large French shadow trailing behind her. She wonders if this is going to be a usual thing, and finds herself not minding much--Booker is more respectful of her space than any other man she’s been around save for Joe and Nicky. Together they wander back towards the main hallway, and find a young woman in simple black clothes walking towards them with a tray of breakfast.

“Oh! Mrs. Williams said that we had several guests last night. If you don’t mind waiting while I take Mr. Williams his breakfast, I can take you to the kitchen and Cook can make something for you?” Her eyes skim over Nile, and she speaks directly to Booker, who looks uncomfortable at the attention.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, if you wouldn’t mind pointing us in the direction we need to go, that would be fine.” The young woman looks disappointed, but provides the directions as requested. Booker steps to the side and with a half-bow that has her smiling to herself, he indicates that he will follow Nile. His hand rests lightly on her back, well above her waist, and the warmth sends a slow shiver through her body. They follow the housekeeper’s directions and make their way into the open kitchen door, where a middle-aged woman is busily preparing eggs and toast, and there is a pot of coffee on the stove. She looks up distractedly at them as she moves through her routine, and there is a moment of panic in her eyes before she speaks in hesitant English.

“Good morning, you are wanting food, yes?” Her accent is strong and lilting, and Booker responds in smooth, rumbling French that causes all the tension to drain from her body. Booker acts as interpreter and he and Nile are soon sitting at a small table in a corner of the kitchen and the cook is chattering away in her native language, seemingly excited to have someone nearby that can understand her. Nile savors her coffee, watching Booker as he fiddles with his own mug without taking a drink, eyes flickering around the room as though the mystery killer is going to appear from behind the potato box. 

Soon Andy stumbles in, followed by a mostly-alert Nicky who perks up at the smell of cooking and a still-asleep Joe, who Nicky deposits in a chair next to Booker where he slumps against Booker’s broad shoulder and begins snoring. Booker waves his cooling coffee under Joe’s nose, who grabs the mug without opening his eyes. Nile giggles at their antics. Andy sits next to Nile and Nicky crowds in on Joe’s other side. None of them speak while the cook brings their breakfast to them. They are halfway through the meal when Quynh arrives and promptly seats herself in Andy’s lap.

“So, how do we keep the Nightingale safe, Booker?” Her dark eyes bore into his blue ones, and he squares his shoulders under the scrutiny.

“She can’t be alone. I’ll go to the station today and see what I can find out about the raid, see if they are connected. I don’t like that there was someone waiting to grab her as she ran out the back… This whole thing feels like something is even dirtier in the force than I originally thought. Andy, can you take her back to your place?”

“I’m not a child that needs a babysitter, Detective.” Nile glares at him across the small table, “and I don’t appreciate you treating me like I can’t take care of myself.”

“You’re the target. You’re young. You _aren’t_ being left alone. I don’t care if you think you can protect yourself, I _know_ Andromache can kill if needed, and the only reason I’m not assigning you to Joe and Nicky is because I need Nicolò on the roof across from Andy’s with that rifle of his and Yusuf is the only one who can be his spotter. Trust me, _Mam’zelle_ Freeman, if I could protect you by chaining myself to you, I would.” 

“I won’t have you risking the lives of my friends for me! You don’t even know that he’s going to try coming after me again! How are you even going to figure out who it is?”

“I’m not risking my next call to be standing over your body with your throat cut open! I don’t know how to catch him, but you hit _somebody_ over the head with a pipe last night, so that’s a start!”

They were standing now, when did they stand up? She is leaning across the table, feeling ready to claw at his face and thinking, _who is he to think I can’t take care of myself? That I need a man like him to protect me?_ , when she sees the fear in his eyes. His shoulders are shaking, not in rage like hers--but in terror instead. Nile flinches when someone touches her wrist, and looks down to see Andy.

“I get it, kid, but he’s right. And he’s not risking our lives. We take care of our own, you know that.” Nile looks over to Nicky and Joe, who are both stone faced. Taking a deep breath, she nods and resigns herself to having a bodyguard.

********

The rest of the day is gloomy. After breakfast Booker had taken his leave and headed to the police station. Nile feels a twinge of guilt as she hadn’t gotten a chance to apologize for yelling at him over breakfast. Andy has become her new shadow, Nicky and Joe had snuck out the back of the house shortly after Booker left, presumably to get the rifle that had been mentioned. Quynh volunteers herself to drive Andy and Nile back to the South Side and treat the excursion as a girl’s day on the town. Nile has her reservations, but Quynh’s shark smile and Andy’s easy posture made her feel a little safer.

They do have an enjoyable lunch, and Quynh even drags Nile into a store that she had always looked into but never been able to afford. Something about _needing to get you looking too good to be true_ for… someone. Nile still isn’t sure _why_ Quynh is so adamant that she needs to buy the green and gold dress, but the beading on it is stunning, and she can’t find it in herself to say no.

They are all laughing when they climb the steps to Nile’s apartment in Mr. Copley’s boarding house that afternoon. Nile starts humming the song that she and Joe have been working on out of sheer happiness, the stress of the night before lifting from her shoulders. She unlocks her door and all three of them spill into the room, Andy flops onto the bed and Quynh crosses the space to throw open the drapes across the window and open the fire escape as she lights another cigarette. Nile swings Andy’s legs out of the way as she reaches under her bed to drag her suitcase out and begin packing for her indefinite stay with the older woman. Andy grunts when Nile drops the suitcase onto her stomach and Quynh cackles from the window.

“Ohhh, Andy, do you want me to kiss it better?” She purrs with a wink, and Andy tosses the suitcase to the side as she leaps to her feet to pin the socialite to the wall.

“I’ll let you kiss whatever you want, beautiful,” she says before leaning down to take Quynh’s lips in a gentle, fiery kiss.

Nile rolls her eyes at them and moves to pull a few articles out of her armoire.She then turns to the vanity to gather the rouge and hair accessories that she keeps there, and when she looks at the small table and mirror she screams.

There, with its feathers scattered around, lies the body of a nightingale cut open from throat to stomach. The mirror is painted with a message in its blood.

_You can’t escape the cage, birdy._

  
  


*******

Booker edges his way into the station, listening for any rumors of the raid on The Old Guard the night before. The air is buzzing with the excitement following a successful bust, and the booking desk is still working on processing all of the poor schmucks that got nabbed. It seems like a waste of time, since Booker can see some rather high-profile members of Capone’s gang sitting in the holding cells, and oh, look at that, the DA’s son is there too. He rolls his eyes and goes back to scanning his fellow officers, looking for any injuries that may match up with Nile’s experience the night before.

He can’t shake the feeling of failure that has been dogging him since Nile burst into Copley’s house the night before. He throws himself back into the pile of notes about the butcher that he’s been hunting. The day drags on, and just after lunch his captain appears at his desk.

“Le Livre, come see me real quick.” The captain’s face is solemn, and Booker quickly stands and follows the older man into the private office. His heart sinks when the captain shuts the door behind them and lowers the blinds.

“I’m taking you off those murders. We don’t have any _real_ proof that they are connected, and I need you working elsewhere. Keane is going to take over, we’ll see if he’s ready for that promotion he’s been gunning for.”

“What?! Keane?! You can’t be serious, Captain. He doesn’t give a shit about these people. He’d rather let this madman tear through the South Side and kill everyone than actually catch the fucker!”

“Watch the language in my presence, Detective. And like I said, we don’t _know_ that they are connected. Now. You have two options. Accept the reassignment and hand over whatever _evidence_ you _think_ you have. Or, I’m putting you on a two week suspension and will begin the process of sacking you for insubordination. Am I clear, _Detective?_ ” The disdain of the captain’s voice runs down Booker’s spine like an icy hand. He hears a ringing in his ears as he stands to leave without responding. _Keane? Fucking Keane? If Keane takes over, Nile’s as good as dead, along with half the fucking South Side, no one will be able to catch this monster._

Speak of the fucking devil. Booker makes eye contact with Keane across the bullpen. His face is swollen, a massive goose egg on the left side of his head, and his left eye is a deep purple. Booker crosses the room, rage building inside him like a kettle boiling. He shoulders his way through the other officers, and hears the end of the conversation.

“--ran around back to grab any of the little rats in case they tried to escape. That singer, she tried to get past me, uppity little bit--” the rest of his sentence is silenced by Booker’s fist. Keane falls back into the wall and Booker grabs him by the collar. He lifts the other man off the ground and slams his head back into the brick wall of the police station. 

“What do you know, Keane? Huh? What do you _know?_ ” He hisses at the younger man, shifting his arm to press against his throat. He can’t hear anything aside from the rush of blood pounding in his ears as he imagines this piece of shit with his hands on Nile the night before, pinning her down, threatening to… No. If he goes much further he’ll have to kill his fellow officer in front of the entire force and then Nile wouldn’t be protected. 

Keane’s good eye is turning red, and he is grabbing at Booker’s arm, desperately trying to pull it away. Booker growls and pulls away to slam his fist into Keane’s ribs, dropping him to the ground. The world comes back into focus when his own arms are pulled behind his back and he hears the captain cursing him six ways to Sunday. 

_Fuck._


	6. Chapter 6

_Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home_

_When our hearts beat slow together_

Booker drags his feet as he walks from his Model T to his apartment building. He’s been given a one month suspension, but he can’t bring himself to fully regret putting the fear of God into Keane. He unlocks the door to his apartment and sees Joe and Nicky making preparations for their vigil in his living room. Nicky’s rifle is in pieces, laid out carefully on a threadbare blanket on the floor, and Joe is sitting on the couch, sketching out possible vantage points for them to take up to best observe Andy’s place. Booker nods at them before crossing to his bedroom. 

He takes a steadying breath and reaches under his bed to pull out the old trunk where he locked away the worst part of his life. The lock sticks as he tries to wrest it open, as though it also doesn't want him to go back to that place. The heavy lid opens and the smell of mothballs is overpowered by phantom scents of blood, mustard gas and gunpowder. He digs past the stained uniform, grabs a battered and familiar notebook and the Ruby sidearm that had spent as much time in the mud as he had in the war.

He silently joins the others in the main room. Disassembling the _pisolet_ is as easy as breathing, taking the gun oil and rag from Nicky when it was offered. The three of them may have worn different uniforms during the Great War, but they all recalled the terrifying feeling of a weapon jamming due to improper maintenance. They can’t afford that with Nile’s life in the balance.

Nicky finishes reassembling his rifle before Booker is done, so he moves to make a simple meal with groceries that he and Joe had brought along with them. Joe draws Booker into the planning process, both of them working on the calculations Nicky will need to know to make the shot if necessary. While they sit together at the small coffee table, Booker grabs one of Joe’s sketching pencils away and flips to the back of his field notebook, starting his own sketch.

The quiet tension is shattered by someone pounding at his door. Nicky grabs a knife off of the counter and tosses it to Joe before taking one for himself, Booker slams the magazine into its place in the pistol and moves to open the door, angling his body behind the solid oak. As soon as the door cracks open, Andy, Nile, and Quynh are spilling through, wide-eyed and shaking. Booker finds himself with an armful of Nile as she presses her face into his chest and fights back sobs. 

He gathers her close, kicking the door shut and angling himself between her and the exit as Nicky takes his spot by the door, knife at the ready. Andy’s eyes are flashing with rage, Quynh is pacing furiously, and Nile won’t stop shaking in his arms. He guides her backwards to the couch, kneeling in front of her and trying to catch her gaze.

“ _Qu'est-il arrivé?_ ” He snaps to Andy, trying to keep his hands steady as he checks Nile for any injuries.

“ _The bastard knows where she lives. Left a dead bird in her room and another note--this time on the mirror,”_ Andy switches to French easily, her voice a dangerous growl. “ _We went to my place and there was a dead cat hanging from my doorknob. He’s fucking playing with us. Tell me you have something, Le Livre.”_

Booker goes to respond when Nile’s hand grabs the notebook he had been sketching in. He feels her hold her breath as she looks over the figure there.

“Booker… Who is this?” Those wide, beautiful eyes are boring into his, and he feels as though she is finding every flaw and lie he’s told in his life and laying it bare.

“His name is Keane. He’s on the force with me, and as of three hours ago, he took over my assignment when I was placed on suspension.”

“Why were you suspended?”

“Why do you want to know who he is?” He isn’t even sure if he wants to hear the answer. He _knows_ what she’s going to say, but it is going to destroy him to actually hear that someone he has shared lunch with, someone that he had tried to help in the beginning of his career, is working with the monster that he is currently trying to save her from. 

“He’s the one that tried to grab me last night.” 

“They felt like there isn't enough evidence to show the murders are related. The captain suspended me when I went after Keane, you busted him up pretty good, _mam’zelle_.” His wink at the end makes her laugh, and he feels something in his chest loosen up as she drops her forehead to his shoulder.

“What are we going to do now, Boss?” Joe is looking over at Andy, who is looking like one of the wolves that Booker remembers stalking his grandparent’s sheep as a child. Her pack has been threatened and she is ready for a kill.

“My house is compromised. He probably knows about you and Nicky as well, but nobody will go after the two of you after how you beat the hell out of Bugs Moran a couple of years ago.” The grin Nicky flashes at his lover is feral and full of promise at that memory. “Book, she’s gonna stay with you. Quynh, go home and call a lawyer, I know you know a few. Joe, Nicky, you’re gonna be with me setting up the trap for tomorrow.”

“Trap?” He really hates where this is going. Andy’s steely glare confirms it.

“He wants _her_. The best way to catch him is to use her as bait and hope he fucks up.”

********

Booker has a very impressive book collection, for a police officer. Nile runs her fingers along the spines, some are dime-store romances, a few heavy leather-bound volumes that are in French and other languages she doesn’t recognize. The screaming match between him and Andy had started as soon as Andy revealed her plan, continuing through the meal that Nicky had prepared for them and they are still going an hour later. They switch between French and English, with Italian from Nicky peppered in for good measure. Nile is getting a little tired of being spoken about like a child.

“Do I get a say?” Booker and Andy startle when she speaks up from her place by the bookshelf. There is barely a foot of space between them, and both are breathing heavily with their hair falling over their foreheads in a very similar manner.

“You’re right, Nile. What do you think?” Andy’s cold eyes slide back to watch Booker’s reaction. 

“This is going to be our chance. We need to catch him and he’s focused on me. I’d rather not risk anyone else’s life. And with all of you there to protect me, I think we have a shot.” She lifts her chin and tries to keep her voice steady. The pain and fear that tears through Booker’s face is primal, but he slams his eyes shut and turns away before she can truly react. Andy nods proudly at her and drags the other three out of the apartment, leaving her with her distraught protector.

She watches as he furiously rolls up his sleeves and begins scrubbing at the dishes left from Nicky’s meal. She edges her way into the bedroom, wanting to prepare for the evening, and get out of the clothes she’s now been wearing for two of the most traumatic events of her life. She pulls on the long nightgown that she had grabbed during their brief visit to her home, tracing her fingers along the lace at the neckline to ground herself. She had purchased it after her first big payday from singing. It was her way of proving that she could not only provide for herself with her voice, but that she could provide _luxury_ for herself as well. The neckline is indecent for mixed company, but when she had been packing she thought she would be staying with Andy, not the handsome detective. She hastily pulls her dressing gown on for added modesty.

By the time she returns to the main room, Booker is seated on the couch, glaring at an open bottle of whiskey and two empty glasses on the small table in front of him. She gingerly sits on the other end of the couch, eyes flicking back and forth between his furious gaze and the whiskey that he seems to be trying to set fire to with his mind.

“Did you start without me?” _Please don’t be drunk._

“ _Non._ As much as I want to, I don’t drink on the job, but I thought you might need something to help you sleep, and I know how horrible it is to drink alone.” He’s still not looking at her and those broad shoulders of his are set in a tense line. She slowly reaches forward and grasps the half-empty bottle, before setting it on the floor behind her.

“I’d rather just talk with you, if that’s alright? I don’t think alcohol will help me sleep tonight.”

He turns his face to her, the anger melting into confusion. 

“Talk? With me? What about?” The crease between his eyebrows reminds her of a puppy her brother had dragged home when they were kids; it had been so confused by everything they did, but eager to play.

“What made you leave France?” She watches as he laughs to himself, settling back into the couch and relaxing as he turns more fully towards her.

“Mustard gas attack in the trenches. Got sent home when I couldn't breathe without feeling like there was ground glass and fire in my lungs. The shot that I took through the shoulder to protect my lieutenant didn’t help much. Once the war was over I couldn’t bear the thought of being in a country that had killed so many good men for fucking nothing. So I packed my family up and dragged them halfway around the world.” He rubs his hand over his face and through his hair, touseling it even further. Nile pulls her knees towards her chest and rests her head against the back of the couch.

“Tell me about your family?”

“Three sons. Henri and Philippe are twins. Smart and bold as brass, but so respectful. Jean Pierre is a holy terror. Loud, and doesn’t think about anything he says before it flies out of his mouth. Simone hated it here. She refused to learn English, and hated that the boys were getting along with the others in our neighborhood--regardless of last names. Her family is very influential in Paris, and we had a… surprise wedding.” He flushes.

“So…. Not only do you have three sons, but the first two were due to a beautiful socialite having a good time with a dashing soldier boy?” She laughs at him, easily able to picture the scene; Booker handsome in his uniform, charming a faceless young lady back to his bunk, and then the two of them having to face the music before the society pages found out and ruined her reputation. 

“I plead youthful stupidity. I love my sons and I miss them terribly, but… Simone and I were not a good match. It got much worse while she was here, and I probably should have fought for my boys more, but I couldn’t give them the life they deserved on my own. At least with Simone, they will grow up with money, and power, and a mother. The father is rather useless, in my experience.”

Nile’s heart breaks, remembering how vital her father’s laughter had been in their home. The way he would sweep her mother into a dance when she was trying to mend his socks, his horribly off-key singing and the way he praised her when she raised her voice in church. Her mother’s hollowness when he didn’t return. Her heart aches for the way Booker dismissed his importance to his sons and the way that they will never know how truly good a man he is.

The silence falls between them again, but the tension is gone. He seems to be lighter, as though discussing his lost family with her has helped him take its weight off his shoulders. But she has more questions.

“Where did Booker come from?”

“Marseille, it’s a beautiful port in the south--” 

“No, the _name_ Booker. Not the _man,_ ” she laughs at him.

“Oh! That’s all Andy. My last name, Le Livre, means Book. And I was the officer in charge of booking her into the station for the longest time. She got tired of me correcting how she said Sébastien so she started calling me ‘Booker’ and it stuck.” He shrugs and Nile can admit that this sounds on par for their relationship. She also revels in the way he says his given name. So different from the harsh “Sebastian” she is used to. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want an English-speaker butchering it. 

“Why do you think he’s after me?”

His eyes flick to the bottle of whiskey on the floor, then back to her. She can see him weighing the decision on whether he should--or could--lie to her about this. He finally squeezes his eyes shut, and with a deep sigh he drops his head back so that he is staring at the ceiling. 

“Best I can figure, he _hates_ seeing people that look like you succeed. He hates watching you excel in ways he would never be able to, so he attacks the parts of you that he thinks may have the answers. He started with a grandmother, because she wasn't strong enough to fight back. The others have been slowly getting younger and stronger. Knowing that Keane is working with him--that’s the only way he could have taken the boxer down.”

“I’m not a strong fighter, why would he wait on me?”

“You’re beautiful, you’re successful and you’ve got some scary fuckers surrounding you. Capone has been trying to poach you from Andy’s club for _years_ and you stay because you like it there, you feel safe there. But in all honesty, it’s your fault he’s after you. You’re just too gorgeous and talented _not_ to attract attention from the most dangerous people in the city.”

“I’ll have to start wearing a potato sack then.” She grins over to him, enjoying the way laughter bursts out of him, his shoulders shaking in such a way she feels the rumble through the couch frame. 

“It’s hilarious that you think that would make a difference. You’re like the moon. You can try to hide behind the dirt and smog of this city, but you radiate through anyway.”

“If I’m the moon, what does that make you, copper? The sun? The clouds? The stars?” She leans closer to him, eager to see what he would choose for himself, how he feels he fits into this world.

“Do… Do you know that the moon helps create the tide? It pulls on the water, and the waves are trying so hard to get closer, but the earth pulls stronger and brings them crashing back down. I’m the waves on that big old lake out there, wanting to be just a little bit closer to something as beautiful and powerful as the moon, but knowing that my past is going to pull me down to earth every time.”

He looks at peace with this assessment. As though he has given the two of them serious consideration and found himself as lesser. This man who easily speaks of almost dying for his country and allowing those he loves most to leave him to give them a better life. This man, who even while falling down drunk had treated her with more respect than almost every other person who looks like him. Her heart breaks at the thought of him not _seeing_ himself.

“Why do you think the moon pulls at the water?”

He makes a sound deep in his throat as he shrugs. Presumably he hasn’t given any thought to how the _moon_ might feel about things.

“Maybe she is trying to pull the water closer because nothing else in the cold sky has as much life as the dancing waves. Maybe she hates that there are so many things keeping the water trapped to the ground instead of joining her since it reflects her light so beautifully.”

That confused furrow is back between his eyebrows, and maybe she’s muddled the whole idea up, but she needs him to know. Needs him to understand. His mouth opens to ask a question, but she moves faster.

She presses her lips to his, feeling his breath catch in his chest. Her nose bumps against his, but she refuses to let him pull away and hide from her anymore. She runs her fingers through his hair, pushing it away from those ocean-deep eyes, and he groans deeply as his hand cups her face, drawing her closer with his other arm. She loses time, enjoying the feeling of him opening up beneath her, the way he comes alive at her touch, the way every sound he makes sends tremors through her body. When she finally pulls back, his lips chase her, trailing down her neck as she gasps for the breath he stole. He rests his forehead at the base of her throat, and she would feel embarrassed about the racing of her pulse, but she can feel his panting breaths and trembling hands.

“This is… probably not smart of us,” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone.

“Probably not, but I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” She chuckles at the speed with which he lifts his gaze to her eyes. Her hands have completely destroyed whatever style his hair had, and it’s sticking up all over the place. The joy in his eyes is backed by a simmering heat that she knows is matched in her own expression.

“It is nice to know that I wasn’t alone in that. But this is not all I want from you, and I want to make sure that you are _safe_ before we go any further… Is that agreeable?”

“Very.” She cannot resist another kiss to his full lips. “But only if you protect me tonight as well. No funny business--I’ll feel safer if you’re close.”

“Always, _mam’zelle_.”


	7. Chapter 7

_I want to join in with the meadowlarks_

_Chase after the song of where the wild things are_

Booker wakes with the taste of Nile still on his lips. He opens his eyes and feels her press closer to his back, one delicate hand tightening on his shirt. He gently loosens her grip and presses a kiss to her knuckles when she makes a sound of discontent. He slips out of the bed, taking a moment to gaze at her as she pulls his pillow towards her with a slight frown on her face. The early light filtering through his window settles into a warm glow on her skin, and he marvels at the many differences between them. Her soft, gentle smiles, and his gruff growls and sharp frowns. Her easy way in the limelight, and his desire to hide in the shadows. The vocal way she declares herself and her intentions, and the way he has always kept himself shut away. He feels honored that she even wanted to try and pry that lockbox open last night.

He tries to be as silent as possible when leaving the room, and is shocked to see that he had slept through a breaking and entering--even if the intruder is friendly. Andy smirks at him from where she is sitting at the kitchen table.

“Where’s the Nightingale, Book?”

“Sleeping. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, about an hour. Coffee?” She is entirely too smug as she offers him his own coffee pot. He glares at her as he takes the pot and pours a generous helping of the bitter brew-- _which still has grounds in it, what the fuck, Andy?--_ and raises his eyebrow in a silent demand for more information.

“Joe and Nicky are going to meet us at the Guard at sunset. Nicky has gone to talk with Scarface. He’s halfway in love with our girl, so we may as well use that to our advantage. We don’t have the manpower to keep her safe on our own and he has more politicians and coppers on his payroll than anyone else. She’s going to have to put herself out there tonight. Keane will hear about her performance and whoever he’s working for won't be able to resist her being out in the open without any protection.”

“I hate this plan.”

“Of course you do. If I know you at all, Booker, you want her packed up and halfway to New York by now. But that won’t protect the rest of the city, and unfortunately, none of the rest of us are the right color to lure this bastard out.”

He drops his head down, gripping the mug tighter between his hands. Andy reaches out, squeezing his wrist until he meets her eyes. He sees reassurance there, Andy may be reckless with her own life, but she guards those she loves with a ferocity Booker has only seen during the war--when women would kill men who attempted to attack their daughters with nothing more than a darning needle and pure rage. 

He jumps when he feels a hand on the back of his neck, fingernails trailing through the short hair there. Nile takes the mug of coffee from him and settles on his knee, leaning against his chest as she takes a drink. Her face scrunches up adorably at the bitter taste and she scoops three large spoonfuls of sugar into the mug before continuing to drink.

“Is that better, little thief?” He smiles up at her. She makes a sound of contentment before handing the mug back to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Much better. You’re too bitter on your own, you need to add some sweet things to your life.” She winks at him before making herself even more comfortable in his arms. He feels like his heart is going to burst, and pointedly ignores Andy’s snort of amusement across the table.

“You really think Al will help? I'm just a singer, I’m not one of his girls.”

“I think he really wants you to be one of his girls, and you’ve been defying him since he first caught sight of you. Quynh sent along one of her most show-stopping dresses for you to wear tonight, and Joe wanted me to tell you that you’re going to sing The Bird Song, just to drive home the point that it’s _you_ this bastard wants. Booker will hide backstage. Keane knows you're important to him, so we need to keep him out of sight. But I brought you a present too. I’m not having you unprotected at any point of the night.”

Andy drops a garter on the table, with a sheath for a knife attached to it. Booker tightens his grip on Nile’s waist, hating the _need_ for her to wear it, but also trying to hide his reaction to the thought of that beautiful mix of soft beauty and sharp danger pressed to her thigh--and the perfect representation of her that it is. Nile’s eyes light up and she grins at Andy, “do I only get the one knife, or can I bring my own?”

Booker can’t restrain the moan that bursts from his chest as she pulls _another knife_ from somewhere beneath her nightgown. Andy laughs so hard at his predicament that she falls off her chair.

********

Nile refuses to look towards the vanity backstage where the first note had been left. This poses a slight problem when she cannot bear to look in the mirror to put the finishing touches on her look for the evening, but she takes heart in Joe’s steady hands and kind eyes.

“You have never looked more radiant, little sister. Truly, a Nightingale spreading her wings and lifting her voice.” He helps her straighten the headband with its dangling fringe that matches the champagne-colored dress with a dangerously plunging neckline and beaded fringe skirt. Nile blesses her dark complexion when she feels herself blush at Booker’s heated gaze when he sees her wearing the ensemble.

She shuts the feeling of desire that had burst to life inside her away so that she can focus on getting through the evening alive. She checks that the knife Andy had given her is fully hidden and takes a steadying breath. Andy is out in the front of the club with Nicky and what seems to be half of the mid-level men of Capone’s outfit. Joe ducks out to the front to get prepared for their set after pecking a kiss to her forehead. Booker is leaning against the back wall, doing a horrible job of staying hidden.

“You look like someone wrapped you in a moonbeam.”

“As long as it keeps your ocean-blue eyes on me, Detective.” He chuckles, and pulls her into his strong arms, lifting her hand to his lips. 

“I hate this. I don’t want to risk you. Are you sure you don’t want to head to New York?”

“I trust you, Booker. Between you, and Andy, and the boys… everything is going to be OK. Besides, Joe and I have been working hard on this song. I want you to listen to it, I’ll be singing it for you.”

He lowers his head to tuck his nose behind her ear, pressing a soft kiss there. She feels his chest expand with a heavy sigh and takes comfort from his solid presence. 

“I’ll be in the rafters. Don’t look for me up there, no one can know. But I’ll be looking over you with Nicky’s rifle, alright?”

“Alright. Now go, before someone spots you.” And just like that, she’s alone for the first time since this horrible nightmare began. She doesn’t have a chance to scream when two pairs of hands grab her and drag her through the stage door.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

_ The symphony’s awakening my sparrow heart _

_ I know, I'll go _

She bites down on the hand covering her mouth and nose, desperate for air and trying to call for help. She can’t see the faces of the men who are taking her away from her family, but she hears disturbing laughter coming from the man with the softer hands.

“Good job! Ohhh… We got her, we got her. Good show! Going to crack you open, little birdy. Going to find out your secrets.” The unfamiliar voice turns Nile’s stomach, and she blinks back tears, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

They drag her to another warehouse and throw her inside before shutting the heavy door. As soon as she is free from their grasp, she turns to face her abductors. She recognizes Keane and feels a flash of pride at the swelling and bruising on his face, but the other man is a stranger. His wide, pale blue eyes are alight with a feverish glee, his pale skin has a flush of excitement across his cheeks and his curly brown hair has been pulled and twisted into odd shapes. She backs herself up against the wall, not wanting to lose sight of either of them.

“Oh, well done, Mr. Keane! She’s perfect. I’ll open her up and find her secrets for sure.” Keane’s expression is far less manic, anger lighting his eyes  — _ probably because you hit him with a pipe two days ago _ _ — _ and he is keeping an eye on her hands — _ yup, still upset about that, then.  _

“We’ve got to be quick, Mr. Merrick. That French bastard seems pretty taken with her, I don’t see him letting his little pet out of sight for long.”

********

Booker lies on his stomach on one of the broad rafters that overlooks the Old Guard’s lounge. Nicky’s rifle is comfortable in his hands, but he may have to fire a warning shot if its owner doesn’t stop glancing up at his perch and keeps risking giving away his position. In all honesty, Booker doesn’t know if Nicky is more concerned about someone else handling his weapon or not being the one in charge of Joe’s safety during the operation. However, Andy had put her foot down, as anyone who frequented the Guard knew that Nicky was the only person she would trust behind the bar. 

Joe is surprisingly calm, and if Booker didn’t know him better, he would think that it was just another night. The only indication that something was not right is the tension in his shoulders and his frequent glances to the curtain that is keeping Nile hidden from her audience. Joe sits at the piano, calling out jokes and greetings to some of the familiar members of the crowd and begins to play. Booker watches the curtain for Nile to make her entrance and begin to work her magic like the siren she is.

She misses her cue. Joe’s playing slows as he cranes his head to see behind the curtain. He stops suddenly, leaping to his feet. He rushes backstage and Booker loses sight of him. Then, the worst is confirmed.

“She’s gone!”

Booker jumps from the rafter and hits the ground running for the alleyway.

********

Merrick. Nile locks eyes with the monster that has been hunting her community. He looks simultaneously surprisingly normal and shockingly deranged. Average height, but almost salivating at the thought of cutting her open. Nile squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, refusing to show him the fear that he seems to crave. Her eyes flicker over to where Keane stands, blocking her exit back to safety. She returns her focus on Merrick and tries to not visualize Booker finding her dead body next.

“Going to make you sing, little birdy! Find that voice, that special little secret. WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL??” He roars at her, suddenly lunging forward and grabbing her by the throat. She briefly sees stars when he slams her head against the wall behind her, and she can smell the absinthe on his breath. She gasps for air, his insane eyes filling with rage as he begins to rant about something or another; she is long past caring. She slips one hand under the hem of her dress and grips the hilt of Andy’s knife.

There is another roar from the doorway and she hears a sickening crack as Keane screams in pain. Merrick twists away from her for half a second, but it is long enough for her to open his throat. She flinches away from the spray of blood, and shoves him backwards. His mouth drops open, and she watches the madness drain from his eyes as he falls to the ground.

********

Booker watches in horror as Nile slides down the wall covered in blood, eyes glazed. He hears the others clattering into the warehouse behind him and he leaves Keane  _ — _ who is swearing in pain and rage _ — _ to their mercy as he rushes to her side. 

_ “Chérie, es-tu blessé? S'il te plaît..  _ Nile…” He kneels next to her, terrified that he was too late. His hands shake as he reaches for her face, praying to any god that is listening that the blood is not hers.

“Say it again?” Her dazed eyes meet his, and he gulps in a breath at the sound of her voice.

“ _ Quoi? _ Say what?”

“My name… Say my name, Sébastien?” She smiles then, wrapping her hand around his wrist as his hand cups her face. He gathers her in his arms, burying his face in her hair as he chants.

“Nile, Nile, Nile, Nile…”

********

Nile looks over to where a flood of mobsters is descending on Keane, whose arm is bent at a highly unnatural angle, and three of the regulars who always give her an extra quarter if she sings a song from the Old World that Nicky taught her quietly cross to where she is being cradled so gently by her detective. 

“Good goin’, Nightingale. Bossman’s told us to take care of this trash for ya, don’t you be worrying about nothin’, alright?”

“Thank you, Tony. Can you tell Mr. Capone I’ll do a free show for him once everything settles?”

“Course, doll. You’d best go get cleaned up now.”

She nods at the men, then returns her attention to Booker, pressing quick kisses all over his face, tasting the salt of tears that he seems oblivious to.

“Sébastien? Can you take me home? I want to clean up, please.” She squeaks as he stands, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a kitten. He bundles her outside, and Andy is there, ready to drive them away. Joe and Nicky slide into the car, bracketing them in the backseat. Joe smiles at her warmly and she feels Nicky squeeze her wrist, her heart fills with warmth as she feels the calm of her family settle around her. They drive through the city and she allows her eyes to close as she listens to Booker’s heartbeat. Soon the vehicle stops, and she hears Andy’s voice softly break the silence.

“Take good care of our girl, Booker. Nile, I don’t want to see you back at the club for at least a week, alright?” Nile nods and allows Booker to carry her from the car and up the steps of his home. When they make it into his apartment, he sets her down gently and presses their foreheads together.

“I need to clean up… Could you guard the bath for me?” She’s longing to clean herself off, but the thought of being in the communal showers at the end of the hall makes her panicky because she would be alone. She feels ready to claw at her skin to get the sticky, slick feeling of blood off of her face. She can see smears on his shirt from where she had been pressed against him, and she is barely able to keep herself from screaming at the horror of it all. His hands tighten briefly around her arms and he shakes his head.

“I can do better than that.”

********

He can’t look at her. He can’t see her covered in blood like so many boys that he had stood with in the trenches. Not her. She’s too  _ good _ to be sullied like that. He shakes his head and moves across the room to the large cabinet next to the kitchen sink. With a few practiced motions he unfolds the bathing tub and starts the heater that keeps the water from being unbearably cold. He ducks into his bedroom to grab a fresh flannel and a new tin of soap--a luxury that smelled like the lavender fields of home. When he makes his way back into the main room, Nile is standing in the same position he had left her, rubbing at the red stains on her dress, hands trembling.

He decides the heater has done enough of its job and starts the water running into the tub, then moves to reassure the young woman who has so thoroughly captivated him. He takes her hands in his and bends down to catch her gaze. 

“ _ Mam’zelle _ , may I assist you in your bath? I… I need to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

“What happened to calling me Nile, Booker?” The spark of humor is briefly back in her eyes and his heart trips over itself at the sight. 

“I’ll call you whatever you wish me to,  _ chérie. _ ” He smiles and cannot resist pressing a kiss to those perfect lips before dropping to his knees. He listens to the rush of water filling the tub behind him, feels her hands drop to his hair and shoulder for balance, and refuses to think of anything other than removing each item of clothing as it comes into his hands. Shoes, carefully set aside to be cleaned tomorrow. Stockings, rolled down and miraculously tear-free. Nile’s breath stutters above him and he curses the roughness of his hands as he unclasps the garter with its sheath from around her thigh. He ignores the desire that is building inside him, and reminds himself that she needs to wash the night away and that just because she kissed him yesterday does not mean that she shares his feelings.

It is easier for him to focus on his task when he stands and helps her out of the ruined dress, pointedly looking away from the contrast of the slip and her perfectly smooth, rich skin. He glances over and sees that the tub is full.

“I can prepare the bed for you, give you some privacy,” Booker’s voice breaks the tension that has been rising in him since she asked him to call her by name--a privilege that he has no right to. Her hand snatches his as he turns to leave the room, and he hears her soft voice asking him to stay. He can never deny her. He turns back towards her and closes his eyes to give her some modesty.

He hears the water shift as she steps into the tub, balancing with a delicate hand on his arm. He shifts his weight to lean against the counter behind him, and tries not to imagine what she looks like as she bathes herself.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Hmmmm?”

“When they took me… How did you find me?”

His heart stops, the feeling of freefall crashing into him again. When he dropped from the rafters, he had felt as though his heart continued hurtling through the floor and would only rejoin his body if he found her alive and safe.

“Joe saw you were gone when you missed your cue. We all tore out of the club, but the alley was empty.”  _ The smell of garbage, too many people packing in around him, Nile gone, gone, gone, failed again Le Livre, should have breathed deeper of that gas back in the war if this is all the use you are.  _ “We couldn’t tell which way they had gone. Didn’t know how many there were. All I could see were those photographs of the other people that monster had gotten a hold of. I was ready to just start kicking in doors. Then Old Mrs. Miller flagged down Nicky and told him she saw some unfamiliar thugs with a smaller person go into the third building down the street. She’s the best lookout Andy never hired, I’ll give her that.”

Nile chuckles, and he allows a smile-- _ see, she’s here, she’s safe, you didn’t fail _ \--before he continues with the worst part of the story.

“I don’t know what that fucking door was made of, but it took me a few tries to get it down. Joe had to stop me from just fucking shooting the thing. I couldn’t see you, couldn’t hear you, and… and with what he had threatened I didn’t know if he would give you a chance to scream for help--” He tastes salt, feels the heat of tears trailing down his face and tilts his head up in a vain attempt to hide it from her. Suddenly, there is a damp hand slipping into his, pulling him towards the edge of the tub, and he kneels where she guides him, keeping his eyes shut tight. 

“Shhh…. Sébastien, it’s ok. You don’t have to say the rest. He didn’t get a chance to hurt me. You got there in time.”

“No, I didn’t do anything. You protected yourself. I just stood aside and watched it happen.”

“But I  _ knew _ you were coming. I knew that you wouldn’t leave me there alone.” She is cupping his face now, and he feels those soft lips of hers leave gentle kisses across his cheekbones, eyes, and the tip of his nose. “Now, I need you to set that aside, and come back to me now, alright? I need your help, Sébastien.”

“What do you need, Nile? I’ll give you anything.”

  
“Take me to bed? Remind me that I’m alive, and safe, and  _ yours. _ ” His eyes fly open, locking with hers, which seem to be lit by burning embers of lust and life. He desperately lunges forward to crash their mouths together, taking her in his strong arms and lifting her from the water, ignoring the trail of soap bubbles and drips that he will have to clean up in the morning as he rushes them to his room. 


	9. Chapter 9

_ Ohh, I'm still waiting _

_ Ohh, Be still, take wing _

They lie in the dark panting, pressed as close together as they can. Nile trembles occasionally--aftershocks lighting her on fire again and again. She feels his fingertips tracing her arms, legs, ribs, anything he can reach. Glancing beside her, she watches his profile as he stares at the ceiling, the streetlights providing just enough light to see. He turns to face her with a sheepish grin.

"By all rights, I should be arresting us both," he chuckles and presses gentle kisses on her forehead, nose and cheeks.

"Hmmm, you never arrested yourself for indulging at the Guard, is this crime worse?" 

In a flash she is on her back, his large form hovering above her, casting his face in shadow. She reaches a hand up to run her fingers through his too-long hair, and he kisses her wrist as it passes his face.

" _ Non _ , the worst crime I have committed is thinking I deserve to touch you like this. That a drunk bastard who has already ruined one woman is worthy of spending time with a goddess. I don't know how that drunk who collapsed at your feet ended up here, and I hate that I am still that man."

He is trying to pull away from her, trying to put up those broken walls again. But she's seen him now, and it's about damn time that he sees himself. She sits up, allowing the sheets to fall to the mattress and grips his hair tighter.

"I don't hate that man. That drunk collapsed while complimenting my voice, not my body. That man risked his job by standing up for my people. That man put the bottle down to protect me. That man was willing to kill the monster who had been hunting me. That man has brought me more pleasure than I thought was possible." She kisses him, his jaw, throat, collarbone, and back up the other side, branding her words into his skin, and hoping that he understands. "I could never hate that man. I love you, Sébastien."

He makes a sound like he’s just been sucker punched, and maybe she did, but she feels no shame. His hands are shaking as they cup her face and bring her lips to his.

" _ Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime _ ," he gasps, pressing her back into the bed. "Please, please, I love you,  _ ma chérie, mon coeur, ma étoile _ . Nile, let me please you?"

She laughs, breathless with the joy she feels, hearing him return her love. 

"I think you're a little tired,  _ Monsieur  _ Le Livre, perhaps we should rest a while?" She teases him, trailing her foot down the back of his leg. The smile that he flashes at her is predatory.

"Oh,  _ Mam’zelle  _ Freeman, I asked to give you pleasure. You needn't worry about mine." He begins placing open mouthed kisses down her stomach, throwing the sheets on the floor as he makes his way down her body. Then, with one last moment of eye contact, he winks and devours her.

********

When she wakes the next morning, she is amazed that she can stand at all. She pulls the slip that she had worn last night over her head and then wraps up in a blanket that had been kicked on the floor at some point in the night. Partially covered, she seeks her lover.

He is standing at the stove, wearing only his under shorts, broad back to the bedroom door. His radio crackles with some new jazz tune, and he shifts from side to side with the beat. She bites her bottom lip when she sees the bite marks and scratches that decorate his skin, and on silent feet she crosses the room to kiss the worst scratch that runs along his shoulder blade.

He pauses briefly, then relaxes when she leans into him, wrapping her arms around his solid waist. 

"Admiring your handiwork?"

"I'm so sorry."

He laughs,  _ God his laugh is beautiful _ , and moves the pan off the stove before turning to face her.

"I'm not. If I could wear your marks and nothing else, I would. You don't regret it?" His voice softens at the end, eyes seeking hers.

"No, love. I'll never regret you." The smile that erupts is the brightest she's ever seen, his eyes widen, then crinkle at the corners before he bends down to kiss her.

"Come, let's have breakfast. All I have is sausage, eggs and toast, is that ok?"

"Sounds perfect."

Breakfast passes easily, and she is impressed that not only is nothing burnt, but he timed it so that nothing had gone cold either. He admits that she ruined his plan for breakfast in bed, but says that he'll just have to start earlier next time.  _ Next time, he wants a next time, you love him, he loves you. Next time. _

There is a lull after their meal and Sébastien starts to fidget, quickly clearing the table.

"What's wrong?"  _ He asked if I regret it, does he? _

"Have you ever thought about going to France?" He blurts out and then ducks his head, obviously he hadn't meant to actually say that.

"To France? Do you mean, forever? I'm no Josephine Baker, I love Chicago… Do… do you want to go back?"  _ Are you already going to leave me? _

" _ Non _ ! No, it's just…" He tilts his head back, staring at the cracking plaster of the ceiling and continues, "we could marry there. There are no laws against us. And then, no one could ever separate us, no matter where we lived."

"You want to run away with me to France, and marry me?" She whispers, stunned. She thinks about it, the boat trip across the ocean, seeing him in the land that bore him, that nearly killed him, and standing on that soil saying  _ "He's mine and no one can take him from me." _

"When can we leave?" She asks, and he whips his head around to look at her so quickly she hears something pop, then before she knows it he has her in his arms, covering her in kisses. 

"Really? You would marry me? Even after that shit proposal?"

She traces his smile with one sharp nail, grinning when he playfully nips at her finger.

"Absolutely. Make me  _ Madame  _ Le Livre, Detective."

********

_ A letter, addressed to Andromache Scythian, postmarked Marseille, France. _

Dear Andy,

I’m sorry I didn’t give you more notice about where we were going or how long we would be gone for, but I wasn’t too sure myself.

We arrived in Marseille two days ago, and I got to meet Booker’s mother. She is a lovely woman and fully supportive of us. She even found his grandparent’s rings! I swear I’m so happy I’m floating. Did you know that when he laughs he always tries to hide it? Just this morning he pulled the pillow over his face when I tried to practice some of my Provençal. He said it was because my accent was so terrible he couldn’t bear it, but I could see his chest moving.

We are going to a show tonight to celebrate our marriage (MARRIED, ANDY! WE ARE MARRIED!) and Josephine Baker is performing. Sébastien promised me he would dance with me, but he said he isn’t as graceful as I am. I don’t mind though, if he steps on my toes he will have to make it up to me later.

Give my love to the boys and Quynh. And if Mama comes calling, don’t tell her where I went, because she will surely hunt me down and yell something terrible when she finds out what her bullheaded daughter did. I’ll let you know later when we know for sure how long we’re staying, but this country is so beautiful--I can see how he grew up here, and I can already imagine him playing with our children in these wide open spaces…

_ Au revoir mon amie! _

  
  


Madame Nile Le Livre 

_ Enclosed in the envelope that was sealed with a kiss is a photo with the happy couple moments after they became officially tied together as one.  _

_ _


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LESTEY, YOU ARE AN AMAZING HUMAN BEING
> 
> Go follow him at @thewolvesrunwild on Tumblr and SHOWER HIM WITH PRAISE

**Author's Note:**

> The song that was a major inspiration for this story is Bird Song, by Juniper Vale:
> 
> Bird Song by Juniper Vale:
> 
> Sometimes I wish I was a nightingale  
> I’d make my lullaby a fairytale  
> Sometimes I feel like I’m a mockingbird  
> Mimicking the songs that I've already heard
> 
> I want to dance on the horizon line  
> But there is something I am caged behind  
> I have a heart made for take flight  
> But I'm low, so low
> 
> Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow  
> Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours  
> Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home  
> When our hearts beat slow together  
> Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow  
> Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours  
> Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home  
> When our hearts beat slow together
> 
> I want to join in with the meadowlarks  
> Chase after the song of where the wild things are  
> The symphony’s awakening my sparrow heart  
> I know, I'll go
> 
> Ohh, I'm still waiting  
> Ohh, Be still, take wing


End file.
